Rebirth
by BlooDrunk
Summary: Because not all OC stories are cliché romances, and not all 'thrown-in's can be the cheery adventure everybody makes them out to be. A darker story of someone thrown into the Harry Potter universe, but with far more realistic emotions. Title subject to change.
1. Just a Dream

To Enter a Fairytale

By: BlooDrunk

_A/N: There may be a few AU points here and there, in more ways than one. I mean, yes, it's AU from the fifth book, but I'm talking about different stuff. The few chapters that are up during this time are going through some editing, as I have found inconsistencies both within the story and in the timeline (there are no iPhone's in this time period *self facepalm*). If anyone is interested in being my beta, I'd appreciate it :)_

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><p>Chapter 1: Just a Dream<p>

How many people would wish this for themselves, this dream turned nightmare? This blessing turned curse? How many souls would be in bliss, if they were put into my shoes? Countless, I'm sure. Then why do I hate it, when I used to think myself to be among those numbers?

_Harry Potter_ was a child's fantasy, nothing more than a work of fiction. How I found myself within its pages, I still have trouble comprehending. I was only twelve years old, and my life was what I like to think 'normal' is supposed to be. I was to enter my local Junior High, back in America. That was years ago… I believe around four. The amount may not seem much to average eyes, but keep in mind four years is a third of a twelve year olds life, and just under a fourth of mine.

I remember very little luxury memories from that life. I can't recall what the school name was or where I lived. Not even my friend's names or faces. All of my family's own identities have become blurry and unrecognizable, and as time passed I was left alone in the darkness of my own growing insanity. The only clarity I have left, that I cling to for dear life, is the face of my mother, the only family I can remember. I remember that I lived with her, but when I try to recall any further specifics, I get struck with a migraine. The only other reality from that life I have is that of the events before it changed, and I'm not even sure that can be considered reality at all.

In any case, four years is enough time to build up a story; a long, dull story. I've bid my time here, wallowing in the background, not calling attention to myself and leaving well enough alone the things that my nose should stay out of. Alas, I mustn't stray too far from the topic at hand: the day I came to be in this existence. I wouldn't be a very good story teller if I left out the tiny detail of how I, a human child, fell into the written words described so fluently by the genius that is - or was - J. K. Rowling.

Like I said, I was twelve. From the kids I see in my neighborhood now, I suppose I was care free and oblivious to the horrors ahead, the torture of which humanity calls 'life'. When I feel up to the migraine that comes with trying to reclaim lost memories, the year was some time after the year 2000. I don't have difficulty remembering it was summer vacation, however. The memories of how I felt about the jump from Elementary to Junior High will forever be embedded into my mind, even if I don't have any images to go with the emotions. Giddiness, anxiousness, overall excitement to be moving forward. I'm not really sure why I felt anxiety; the children I see playing on the street look like they want nothing more than to move on with school, but the stomach aches that used to accompany the thought of change somehow still gives the occasional nightmare. Weak, I know, but I'd rather face those than the nightmares that cause me to wake up in a cold sweat.

Despite the stomach aches, I believe I did relatively well in school. I'd have a stronger sense of disappointment if I had bad grades, so I wouldn't be surprised if I was the 'B' average kind of kid. But one thing was absolutely clear about my academics. I was an avid reader.

This comes with the memories that are as vivid as the landscape I see now; a massive forest overlooked by the cliff of a mountain, still glowing from the sunrise. Those memories came just before everything changed on a far greater scale than just going to a new school. Reading was my passion. I used to read until my eyelids felt like they were attached to hundred pound weights. I had a whole floor to ceiling bookshelf in my room that I dedicated to stories I had read or had yet to read. There was even a smaller bookshelf in my closet that I reserved only for my favorites.

Granted, I am unable to recall specific passages from the books, but I remember the vast majority of the titles and the main ideas. The clearest memory I have is of me reading, most certainly because it was the last thing I did before I was brought here. These are the memories I can play like a movie behind closed eyelids, the ones that might as well have occurred in this life.

It was a sunny day and I had to squint my eyes at the pages as the rays from the sun glared at me though the tree's branches. The bark at my back was still moist from the morning sprinklers, and a dog was yapping away on the other side of the white picket fence surrounding my backyard. The blanket beneath me was lumpy from the uneven surface of grass, dirt patches, and the occasional stone pile, root, or stick. My black and white cat stayed curled up to my side, paying no heed to the dog that no doubt had its attention on him. I like to think my cat's name was Oreo. That probably wasn't his real name, but I needed something to call him in this recurring 'dream' of mine. The particular book I was reading just so happened to be about a boy, now a teenage wizard with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. I had been rereading the series in celebration of the final movie being released that week. The final book of the series was laid open in my lap, temporarily forgotten as the cat insisted I give him my full attention. I remember the heat being just enough to warm me to the core. It was the rare, perfect day. The kind of day where there wasn't any humidity and just enough clouds to shield you from an endless beat down of radiated heat.

Even though my eyes were drooping with sleep, a result of nature's sunny blanket and leaf rustling, dog barking, bird singing lullaby, I was determined to finish the book in my hands. As soon as I read the last sentence, I allowed myself to loll my head back against the tree trunk. I took in all the sounds around me, the feeling the heat of the sun gave when it got past the tree's leaves, though my eyes were then sheltered with shade. I inhaled deeply at the familiar scent wafting over from my mother's garden. Everything about my surroundings seemed to whisper in my ear, telling me to relax and dream. It took me by the wrist and led me to wondrous places, and everywhere we went we were accompanied by a calm peace; the kind of peace that only comes from a content sleep. I dreamt of golden fields that went on for miles, and that I could run in them with the wind blowing through my hair as the wheat stalks kissed the bottoms of my outstretched arms. The ground crunched under my bare feet, and there in my personal fantasy, I felt free.

But time was lost to me, as it often is to everyone, and it felt like all too soon I jarred myself awake. It was dark. The dog was no longer barking. The birds had silenced, and there wasn't a breeze to rustle the leaves. There weren't leaves to rustle. The tree was gone. My cat was missing, and the garden had disappeared. Someone had removed the fence I'd helped put up, and looked to have uprooted all other life with it. The grass was dead and an unhealthy shade of brown. As far as the eye could see, there was… nothing. Everything looked dead.

In a panic, I had stood up and turned around in a circle, looking for some sign of life, a shred of familiarity, but only seeing the same basic thing every which way I turned; death.

My home, the neighborhood I had grown up in, looked bombed and burned, which I found unsettling because usually bombs put out more damage. There was a chunk gone from the street here, and hole in the side of the house there, and when a building burns down it's more than just charred over. It's destroyed. The scene before me was too clean. The feeling of fear and disorientation melted away as realization took its place. I was still dreaming. With the knowledge that what I was looking at wasn't reality, I took comfort in the fact that I would soon wake up and I would see that my home was completely intact, and as comforting as it had always been. But, not knowing how long it would take until I would wake up, I started to roam around, examining the ruin created by my imagination.

The first thing I explored was my house. Pure curiosity had drawn me to see what my dream world had made of my home. I entered through the back door, and climbed the burnt carpet steps of the staircase to the second floor of my suburban home. I sought the door to the immediate left after ascending the last stair, the door that would lead to my bedroom. Cautiously I opened the door, preparing for the worst, but was greeted with a mostly intact room, even if it needed to be dusted and a few things replaced. Not to mention, everything had a thick layer of a mixture of ash and soot.

My eyes scanned the room, taking in the disheveled familiarity. The bed on the far wall stood to the right of my bookcase and to the left of the grimy window, which overlooked the ruined backyard. The curtains, once dark violet, had faded to a dull grey wherever it didn't have burn damage. On the other side of the window, and against the right wall, was my dresser, its dark cherry wood coated in residue. The attached mirror was cracked, and as I looked at the spider web of pieces I found hundreds of blank stares looking back. I turned to the other side of the room, the left wall. In it were two doors, one led to the walk in closet and the other to the bathroom shared between me and the guest room. The walls were littered with posters, but they were all ripped and scorched beyond recognition. The few pictures I had weren't better off. The faces were marred by burns and the glass over them was shattered. The oval rug in the middle of the room, the one that used to match the curtain's violet hue, had shrunk considerably by fire and was in rags.

I stared at the room without emotion. It was a dream, after all. No need to get upset when I would wake up and find my bed exactly the way I left it, and not the charred, scattered mess it was in that dream. I trailed my eyes across the room one last time before turning to leave, when a speck of color caught my attention. My eyes found the object of interest, and I walked over to it, but as I got closer, my emotionless expression turned to one of puzzlement. On my bed was a stack of books, which had not been there previously. I plucked the top one off the pile in wonder, examining it and flipping it over in my hands. '_Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_', it read. It looked just like my American copy, though without the wear and tear of age. I glanced down, back towards the rest of the stack. _'Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_'. I swept the book aside, allowing it to plop on the bed, and read the next title. '_Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_'. Again. '_Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_'. Again, this time all surprise gone. _'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_'. '_Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince_.' I tossed the books aside to reveal the last book, '_Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows_."

My eyes stared at the small collection in confusion. How did they get here? No, why were they here? What sort of sense is this supposed to make? Why do I find these diamonds in the rough that are the remains of my burnt, charred room? All these were questions I found flying through my mind, trying to find answers that I could not possibly answer for myself.

Eventually, curiosity once again got the better of me. I quickly walked to the closet and pulled the rusty door open, wasting no time pushing passed the tattered clothing in order to get to the small bookcase in the back. It was in the far right corner, as it always was, and it was filled with books. No gaps were to be found, even should I have wanted or needed the room for more books. The books that were there, however, were in the same condition as the rest of my room, as well as the rest of the foreseeable world around me. I couldn't read the titles, but my collection of one particular series could be singled out on the top shelf of the four-shelf bookcase. I pulled the first out and opened it, and as expected the pages were burnt and unreadable. I didn't bother to put it back, I just set it on the small piece of ruined furniture.

It didn't make sense to me, at all. But then, I reminded myself, dreams rarely do.

My curiosity had been satisfied, but the question still remained why my subconscious felt the need to place seven books on my bed. Stacked. In order. Brand new.

Just a dream.

My explanation was the only explanation. A dream, something sometimes indecipherable even by the creator.

Gah. Don't worry yourself with pointless thoughts. Just a dream.

My musings carried on as fast as my feet did, and when I came back out of my thoughts I found they had led me back outside, and I was once again faced with death and destruction. I remember then thinking, 'I don't like this dream.' It's funny, some things never change.

Now, my dear reader, humans tend to have a certain reflex when they hear a noise or feel a sudden touch to their being. It's a natural response we've kept throughout the ages as a necessity for survival. But, you see, somewhere along the line, my genetics decided I didn't need that reflex. Never mind the thugs around the world who may try to cause harm to my bloodline, it's apparently in my genes to have the best of luck and always be in the right place at the right time, never having any danger come my way.

What. A. Joke.

A subtle crack and a simple touch to the back of my neck, and I had just stood there. I acted as if a strand of hair had slipped out of my non-existent bun to brush my neck's exposed skin. And just so I'm clear, if that had happened I would have ignored it and kept my gaze on the remnants of my house.

"And here I thought you had been thorough," it said. "And yet, here before me stands a survivor. Can you tell me why? Why does this one still live?"

"We checked, my Lord. There were no other living beings in this area. She was not here."

"If that is in fact true then you are becoming incompetent. That will cost you dearly, Lucius."

"Forgive me, my Lord." This second voice was ignored, and the first sounded louder, now facing me.

"You, girl, turn," it commanded.

My feet turned me of their own accord, and they stopped only when I faced him. A bald, pale skinned 'man', whose appearance could also be described as snake-like with his nostril slits, red eyes and reptile-like pupils. He was adorned with pitch black robes which hid away his skeleton of a body. His unnaturally long, boney fingers were at ease around his wand, of which he then had pointing at me; at my heart.

Since I wasn't even a teenager yet, he towered over me as I stood there. Alone. Vulnerable. Voldemort had his wand aimed at me, and I was absolutely alone and defenseless.

_Calm yourself. Just A dream_.

"Aw, look. It's only a kitten. Can I keep it?" Female, I noted. Somewhere behind the Dark Lord.

"You have a job to finish, Bellatrix." He stepped away, disapparated, and was replaced by a woman. A sinister, smirking, deranged looking woman.

Lestrange.

From there, it gets difficult. Time wasted away as Bellatrix Lestrange tortured my twelve-year-old-dream-self using the cruciatus curse. Though, as it were, I didn't feel any physical pain. That's not to say I didn't collapse to the rotting soil and writhe as if I were in agony, but at the very least I didn't feel the white-hot knives that are supposed to go with the curse.

Bellatrix took her time. Looking back now, I'm not sure who was more insane. Her, for being the crazy bitch that she was - ahem… _is_ - or me, for actually dreaming myself through the would-be torture. The fact remained, however, that she was the one with the wand and the blood-lust, and seeing the same scene for more than five minutes… well, I imagine it's like reading some minor celebrity died. The article is only interesting for a few minutes, tops. After that it's old news, and time to move on to something else, shallow as it sounds. The curse started diminishing; I noticed it when I wasn't being compelled to struggle to maintain breathing. And finally, I could be still.

"Enough, Bella. Get it over with and meet back at the manor." The addressed woman pouted at the Deatheater's words.

"Oh, fine. Just give me a few more minutes." The man nodded, though his jaw was tight, and all the other figures disappeared. Save for Bellatrix, of course.

"Well, Kitten, playtime's been cut short," another curse, "But we'll make it count," she finished with a smirk.

Curse after curse, even though it didn't affect me physically, time still seemed to drag on, like those last few seconds before class lets out. Except in this scenario, I wasn't bored. I was horrified. What happens when you die in your dreams? Is it even possible? Is that when you wake up?

It stopped all of a sudden, and I was able to heave myself up enough in order to find a reason for the pause. She was holding her arm, and her dark mark was moving.

"I do believe I have to go, Kitten," she said.

_This is it…_

"_Avada Kadavra_!"

I'm going to stop here for a moment to go back a few steps. The answer is, no. You can't die in dreams. It isn't possible. You either wake up before it happens, or you move onto a different dream or time placement where you are very much alive. The reason is that, even as you sleep, your brain is still quite active. This is obviously proven in dreams themselves. But, when you are dead, your brain is not active. So, how would it die in a dream in which it has to be active to fuel? It can't. Plain and simple. And that's why I only saw the green stream of light headed towards me before my surroundings changed and I woke up for the second time that night in a place very different, though not so far away from, my backyard.

I'd be lying if I told you that I knew I was still dreaming. In fact, I fully expected to wake up under my tree, under a starlit sky with a certain black and white cat pawing at me to let him inside. But what kind of story would it be if that actually happened? Well, I'd probably be better off, in one way or another. I suppose it all depends on who you ask.

In any case, I awoke this time on an ash covered floor, and as I wrenched my eyes open they found a scorched ceiling. I was, once again, in my room. And even more frustrating, I was still sleeping.

I raced to the window overlooking the yard I had just 'left'. Sure enough, Bellatrix was there, dumbstruck, her wand still pointed at a dent in the grass and the place that I had been 'tortured' only moments before. After looking around and doing a few double takes, she again grasped her arm and huffed angrily before turning and disappearing. Even though I had seen her go with my own eyes, I continued to survey the area, fearful that the witch would reappear.

"She's not coming back," a voice said from behind me. It was soft, and sounded as if coming from an old man.

"How do you know?" I'd asked in my high-pitched, childish voice. I heard a chuckle. It wasn't evil, if anything it sounded grandfatherly… well, I suppose I don't really have much to compare it to, but that's the only way I can describe it. Grandfatherly.

"I know," he answered me. After watching the back yard for awhile, reassuring myself Lestrange wouldn't return, I whisked around to find the man sitting on the edge of my bed. One of the books was in his hand. Had he been there when I woke up? I didn't notice him.

He had a long, silver beard and hair, along with half moon-spectacles propped on his nose. Behind said spectacles were a pair of blue, twinkling eyes that had removed their attention from the book and had focused on me. Yes. Definitely grandfatherly. You know, aside from the long robes that hid his feet, decorated with crescent moons. At least his clothing wasn't as threatening as my last visitors.

"Why so surprised?" he asked. I blinked and walked over to him, taking a seat on the other side of my bed. He returned to the text in his hands.

"Extraordinary, isn't it?" He flipped a page.

"What is?"

He looked at me, considering me for a moment, before turning back to the book.

"The writings of any literature, young one. Many will never learn the true power of written word," he said, flipping to another page.

"What do you mean?" I asked. Dumbledore chuckled once again. I wasn't sure what the joke he was laughing at was, but I figured it had something to do with me being ignorant of some sort of big picture. I didn't like that.

"The human mind is a powerful one, Miss Dorin. Every thought of fantasy or scenario ever produced is more complex than you realize. For instance," he held up the book in his hand, "This was the result of a single thought, which evolved into an intricate, profound story-line. A scenario, a 'dream' of a single human being." He continued his reading before flipping to yet another page. I could feel my face screw up at his words.

"…It's a book…" I said slowly. He smiled.

"Right you are." I waited for him to continue but he remained silent, reading.

"What's so important about a book?" I asked, disregarding my love for reading. At my question, his eyes finally lifted and I saw them twinkle.

"There's the question I was waiting for." He stood up, closing the book with one hand. He did this silently, and I continued to look at him expectantly when he offered me his arm. I was hesitant at first, but I took it just the same and we apparated into a street a moment later.

My first look around consisted of gawking at all the shops with names like 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes', 'Ollivanders Wand Shop', and at the end stood the structure that could only be 'Gringotts Wizarding Bank'. My second glance noticed that no one seemed to notice us, and Diagon Alley was absolutely bustling with people.

I looked to the wizard beside me once again for answers, but he simply gestured me forward, and so, we walked down Diagon Alley.

"Books provide much more than just entertainment, child. They also exercise your imagination. And, by using creativity, result in this," he gestured to everything around us.

"… My dream?" I asked uncertainly. He nodded in affirmation. I still wasn't following his so-called wisdom.

"It's just a dream," I said, this time more firm, though my confusion wriggled its way into my voice as well. He nodded again.

"For now."

I stopped walking. He did as well, and looked at me, waiting.

"What do you mean?" I'd asked cautiously. He smiled, but it did me no comfort as my question went unanswered.

"In due time, child." I huffed and reluctantly followed him again.

"You see, dreams are complicated things. You can be asleep for no more than an hour, and yet the dream you experience could go through a lifetime. They can vary in emotion and detail, and can range from plot-less," he held out his hand and the same book he was reading before appeared, "To having a story so deep and engaging that it wins over the hearts of millions." He held the novel out for me and I took it into my two small hands.

'_Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_,' it read. I returned my gaze to Dumbledore.

"It's a cycle?"

"Precisely."

"But… what does this have to do with anything?" You dream, write a book, then dream some more? Yeah, that's an interesting moral to a story.

He was the one to stop this time, and again, he offered his arm. I took it, except then I did so without hesitance.

We appeared on a field. It was surrounded by stands of shouting and cheering people, and Quidditch players were soaring overhead. Again, no one noticed us.

"Have you ever wondered how your world came to be? How Earth was positioned just so it was enough to harbor life?" Once again, I stared at him blankly, wondering what he was going on about.

"I'm twelve," I stated matter of factly.

"Indeed you are. That does not mean you can't know or have ideas on the subject? The question stands." I thought for a moment on the topic, not wanting to disappoint the grand wizard further, but after a moment or two I had to shake my head.

"Unless you count the Big Bang Theory or religion, no. I've never thought about it." A bludger swooped down and flew between us and looped back up, only to be hit by a beater as I voiced my answer. Dumbledore nodded once.

"Think about this," He started softly. "It all began, with a dream."

"A dream?" I asked him skeptically.

"A dream," he confirmed lightly. I was still unconvinced.

I turned my head to the sky and watched a team in blue score a goal. "I find that hard to believe," I said, turning back to him. He said nothing, so I took to examining the grass as we walked down the field as I asked my next question.

"Who's dream?" He shrugged, which I found very uncharacteristic.

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know that's what this is?"

Dumbledore smiled while he continued to walk forward, but he didn't look at me.

"I know, because that book you hold in your hand is all the proof I need."

I said nothing as we reached the end of the Quidditch field. He held out his arm for me to take, and we immediately apparated, but to where I didn't know. It looked like an ordinary subdivision, filled with middle class homes.

"Your world is about to be no more, child. This dream is drawing to an end. And when the curtains close, the actors and actresses will cease to exist along with the stage," he told me suddenly, all lightness from his voice gone.

"How do you know?" I challenged. I had asked that question a lot, that night.

"The natural disasters and wipeouts of entire cities are signs your dreamer is about to wake up. Their sleep is being disrupted, and as a result, this world is destroying parts of itself to make the dream less complex, and easier for the dreamer to manage."

I remember thinking that what he was telling me was a lot to lay on a twelve year old, and I was finding it harder and harder to will myself to believe that the dream was lying, and making up stories.

"This could be a bunch of nonsense. Why should I believe you? Why should I believe any of this? I'm sleeping in my backyard, and the world is just the same as it ever was… more or less."

My challenge to the wizard set a spark in him, and he changed right before my eyes. His facial expression hardened, all warmth melting away, and he became stern, almost threatening. His voice seemed to deepen, and you could literally see the twinkle leave his eyes, only to be replaced with ice.

"Whether you choose to believe me or not is not my business, Miss Dorin. My job is to make sure those who deserve a second chance and are open minded enough to believe it, get that second chance, and aren't lost when the dreamer wakes." I look back at the irony in this statement now and laugh. If only he knew…

I stared at him. Shocked. Puzzled. Angered.

"Your job?" He nodded curtly. He did not hold out his arm. He grabbed my elbow and apparated us into a house. My guess is that it was a house inside the subdivision we had just been walking through. We appeared to be in a living room. Two large, brown, leather three-seaters covered the majority of two walls, each of which had windows either overlooking the front or side yard. I sat on one couch, the one that faced away from the front of the house. He quickly crossed the front door foyer on my right and took his seat on the other couch to my left. He said nothing more as he took a butterscotch candy out of the decorative bowl which sat on the coffee table in front of us. My eyes, however, never left the man.

"Who are you?" I finally asked.

"That's irrelevant."

"The hell it is!" I stood up, outraged. He eyed me, quite amused.

"All you need to know is I'm stopping you from disappearing into nothing, with no one left to remember you. My brothers and sisters are doing likewise with many others, but don't worry. They won't land in the same universe to which I've brought you." He looked rather pleased with himself. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fathom why. So many questions swam in my head as I looked at the Dumbledore imposter, and I briefly wondered, at what point had I given up the resolution that it was just a dream? And that what he was telling me was the truth? Was it?

"What if I want them to? I don't what to be in a world where I don't know anyone, and no one knows the real me."

"Tough. Besides, you won't be alone, not for long." He shifted and leaned forward as if to tell me a secret. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the secret he was telling.

"This is how it works. We tweak the minds of a couple of people and place you in their care. They'll think they've adopted you. You won't have any papers, or certificates, other than your birth certificate which for some reason, you humans have decided are required to confirm you exist." He said the last part more to himself than to me. I found it hard to not take offence to the way he said 'you humans'. "Where you go from there is entirely up to you. It's your life, after you get settled in, of course."

"Why don't I have any papers?" I asked, though I had little knowledge of what I spoke of, as I had never needed to know of my 'papers'. I'd come to the revelation that what this 'being', for the lack of a better word, was telling me the truth. I didn't know why then, but now I figure that's just one of their traits. Even if what they say is completely insane and outrageous, eventually you will believe it. That, of course, is just a theory. But, whether it was true or not, I decided it was better to be safe than sorry, and find out all I could. 'Ignorance is bliss' would get me nowhere if he was, in fact, telling the truth.

"It tends to alter the timeline too much, and that is not our place to do so. It's curious; the smallest things can change the entire outcome of a story. And you wouldn't want us to do that, now would you?" he asked with a knowing wink. It took my overwhelmed mind a minute to get what he meant, but when it dawned on me my eyes flashed wide.

"I'll be in '_Harry Potter_'?" Just saying the phrase made me think it reason enough to put me in a mental hospital.

"Indeed."

"Why?"

The man raised a brow at my question, as if it were the silliest thing in the world. "Do you have a different preference?"

"Home would be nice."

"That's not an option."

"Then make it an option! You can't just take me away from everything I know and put me into a world of chaos! It's not fair, and it's not right! You say you're 'saving' me, but look at it from my point of view. All you've done, what you're doing, and what you say you are going to do, is show up out of nowhere, unannounced and uncalled for. You came into one of my dreams, which wasn't too cheerful to begin with, and tell me I have to leave everything behind? Even if it is for a 'new start', I don't want one! I'm doing perfectly fine now, I don't want to leave, especially if I have to leave everything, everyone I know and love, behind!" I breathed in deeply, close to hyperventilation, and clenched my fists so hard I felt I could break the skin, though I didn't.

He sighed, very deeply, and stared straight, his eyes lost in space. When he was finished with his thinking, he came back to reality and shook his head.

"There's always a handful of your kind. Young or not, there's always that select few that decide they don't want the gift we are giving them, even if what we are offering is the gift of life…" Even though he referred to me, it was obvious he was more muttering to himself. He looked at me finally, and said his next words slowly.

"The only alternative is a fate worse than death, young one. No one will come out of this world existing. They won't be dead; they will simply just be gone. They vanish, with no memories to leave behind and no one else to keep their own memory alive. The ground you have walked on, the places you have just seen in pictures will leave no trace of existence whatsoever. So you see child, the option I provide you is the only option. It is not negotiable. Just be thankful for what we are giving you, and try to live normally. Eventually, you'll be reunited with familiar people just as everyone else is in death." He paused at this sentence, and went on adding, "Either by natural causes or whatever the case may be, other than self induced. Self induced death will just lead you somewhere… well, I needn't give you more things to think about. One tragedy in this dream of yours is enough."

I had looked at him with my still innocent eyes. Was he referring to heaven and hell?

"Are… are you an angel?" I asked him. I facepalm myself now for asking this. It was a stupid question. My gut had twisted at the idea that a supposed 'heavenly being' was bringing to me the news that I would never see my home again, even if it was trading my home for a magical one. I didn't like the idea that an angel would be doing something so terrible, and with all my being I hoped that he wasn't, for if he was, I didn't even want to know what kind of news demons brought.

Thankfully he laughed and shook his head. "Don't be absurd, child. If you think some higher being will provide for your every need, you are mistaken. You will be 'treated' the same way as everyone else in any world you may go, and if you don't see now, you will soon find many of them are only what they have made for themselves with their own free will. Free will is the only thing you have been provided, so use it wisely." I still fail to see how the conversation, or whatever you would call it, evolved into a religious lecture. A simple 'yes' or 'no' would have sufficed.

As if tired from his lengthy speech, he stood and stretched which, once again, looked very out of character for the form he still held.

"Well, if you have any more questions, as I'm sure you do, I'll answer them if they are relevant enough. If not, it's time we go."

I nodded solemnly, disappointed at my failed attempts at changing his mind. "I have a few." He gestured that I continue.

I hesitated, not sure if he would think the question stupid, but I needed to know… "What will happen once the story's played through? Will that world end, like this one, and I'd have to… er… move again?"

He did not laugh, like I expected, be he shook his head. "That only happens to simple dreams. It's different with other things like books, and all those contraptions you humans have invented, especially when they are well known. Enough universe chains are created that it becomes a True World, immortalized in its own right from the sum of all the ideas from multiple dimensions put into it… but that is a long story, and we need to keep this short. Next?"

I nodded in semi-understanding. I supposed he had others to get to after he was through with me, which would explain his need to hurry. "What happens if I change the story too much?"

"Like I said, it's your life and where I'm taking you, it's as close to a True World as it gets. So no matter what you do, it will be as if it may as well have happened in the original book. This means no world destruction or existence ceasing." It sounded crazy coming from him too, the idea of someone entering a book.

My next question was something that had been grating me ever sense I figured the man before me wasn't Dumbledore, or at the very least my dream portrayal of him. "How come you make yourself look like Dumbledore?"

The question made him grin uncharacteristically. "We're trying to keep this need to know, Miss Dorin." I gave him a look, my intention being to get the point across that I didn't give a shit, I wanted to know.

With a sigh, he looked at the coffee table and confessed the reasoning for his false appearance. "I figured since you'd just dreamed yourself through torture, this form would provide the most solace." He thought for a moment, and then added as an afterthought, "Unfortunately, since you dreamed it, a mirror-you actually went through it. It gives a whole new meaning to nightmares…" I could have done without that tidbit. I was afraid to sleep for the longest time, out of fear that my nightmares would torture someone else in my dream worlds.

I went on with my questioning, edging towards other matters concerning my new 'home'. Since these were more easily answered, the next moments were fast paced and less complicated.

"How old will Harry be?"

"Eleven."

"How old will I be?"

"Same age as you are now."

I asked a few more questions of those type, before the more lengthy answers started coming back into play.

"Where will I live? In this house?"

The question made him chuckle, but he shook his head. "I just like it here. You'll live in a house in America, relatively near the location of your old home," he answered. "And before you ask, you will be a first year going to the Salem Witches' Institute in New England.

"Is that all?" He continued. I was about to ask another question, my mouth was already open and prepared to voice it, but he was faster and purposely interrupted me.

"Good, let's go." He didn't even touch me that time, we just appeared in a room decorated with a few things a teenage girl might have had. Other than that, the room was and exact replica of mine. The faces in the pictures were replaced with people I could only guess were to be my new parents, but I felt no sadness at that thought. I had gone numb to the idea. The posters I'd had were gone as well, replaced with others. I guessed it was because the posters I owned had content that didn't exist yet. My eyes trailed over the pictures of my new family. They looked friendly enough, and I was smiling next to them in one.

"So… I'll be a witch?" I asked him. I denied it then, but I was avoiding a question I really needed to ask, but didn't want to know the answer to.

"Do you not want to be?" I didn't answer him. Of course I did, what would be the point of going into this world if I was just going to be plain and magic-less?

"Are they Muggles?"

"Yes, and you also have a little sister. You aren't related by blood, obviously, but just a little thing I thought you'd want to know." I wanted to ask him about my bloodline for some reason, but I supposed it wouldn't really matter whether or not I was pureblood or Muggleborn, seeing as no one would be able to tell, anyways.

"If it means that much to you, you can be what you want to be, pureblood or otherwise, because that isn't our doing. If you choose to be that way, it's you who's changing the storyline, not us," he said from behind me. I turned around to look at him strangely, and he gave a small smile.

"I apologize; I slip up from time to time. I don't mean to eavesdrop on anyone's thoughts, I get enough conflicts from my own," he said quietly with a bit of humor. I think the last part was supposed to be funny and to comfort me somehow, but it just came off a little creepy, the thought of him being able to unintentionally invade my privacy.

I swallowed. It was a 'now or never' moment, and reluctantly I barely whispered, "Will I be given new memories, ones from this world?"

"It's insightful that you should ask, but first I must ask you before I answer, are you ready?"

I looked at him confused. I would never be ready, but I especially wasn't when he had yet to answer my question. But then, he did say he would answer me after I answered him. I gave a small, hardly noticeable nod, and at my hesitance and fear filled eyes he attempted an equally small, reassuring smile.

"I should warn you, this life-saving transfer is not without price," he said, his voice getting dark. My heart fell. How much would I be expected to pay? I had already traded literally everything else that I had.

"When one leaves a world to enter another, they begin to lose the memories they had in the previous. It helps so you don't get confused and accidentally bring things up that don't exist. It's also better for your mental state, but in all reality, it happens because the memories you had before never happened here, and thus cannot exist here.

"And to answer your earlier question, no. Unfortunately, since you never had experiences here, you cannot have memories of those experiences because neither exists. We can't give you fake memories because it would change you, which in turn would change the storyline, and as was already established, that is something we can't do. It leaves a bit of an emptiness, but you'll eventually gain new memories of your own, so don't worry too much on the subject."

He told me not to worry, but no amount of consolation would be able to stop the need I felt to cry when he informed me of this. I didn't want to lose my memories. What about my mother? It felt so wrong to even think about forgetting her. My lip trembled and my eyes finally started to sting from all the weights that had been placed on my shoulders that night. And it got worse with that, because the sting in my eyes told me I was no longer dreaming.

He placed a hand on my shoulder and gave a small squeeze.

"You'll be fine, you'll see."

With one last smile, he turned away and stepped forward. My vision was blocked by a blinding light in the middle of the room, and I covered my eyes from the pain it gave from just glimpsing it. When I pulled my arms away from my face, the light had faded, and the man was gone.

I remember the great feeling of loss. He had become my only bridge from my old life, and then he too had gone. I wished I could forget him, along with all my other memories, at least then it would have been less painful.

I'd stood there in the middle of the room, on the violet rug for what seemed like hours, but was really a few short seconds. In those few seconds, I replayed everything that had just happened through my head, much like I am now. Every word that was passed between the two of us sank in the second time that I heard them, and my third time through the replay, I realized I couldn't remember whose faces were supposed to belong on my old bedroom's picture frames. Who's faces had been burned? What did my posters look like?

It was with this realization that every weight that had been given to me multiplied, and the burden of it all made me fall to my knees in the middle of the room. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember whose faces were supposed to belong in those frames. I had not yet lost names and what my friends and families' faces looked like, like I have now, but the fact that I was already losing my memories from the life I loved pushed me to the floor. And on the floor I stayed, on that rug I curled myself up into the tightest ball I could, as if I thought if I made myself small enough, I could be sucked back into the world I could never return to. But I didn't, I stayed on that rug, and the smiling faces of my new 'family' and my unfamiliar self no longer seemed friendly. They all laughed at me, sneering at me and my weakness as I cried myself to sleep, the moon's light making me the miserable spotlight of my room, my new life. I was the star of this new stage, and the faces surrounding me watched the scene before them with mocking smiles.

He'd said I'd be okay, he'd said that I'd see. I have seen. I've forgotten. I've gone numb. I couldn't feel anything for my new family, because to me they were just strangers. The only person I could find myself getting close to was my sister, and even then I pulled away from her too. Every time I got close to any of them, something tore me away. My 'parents' may have tried to show me love, but it was obvious they couldn't give me what they gave their real daughter. I longed for the feeling I could remember I got from the bond my real mom and I used to share, even if I couldn't remember who or what caused that feeling.

My name is Catrina Dorin. I came here when I was twelve, though my fake birth certificate claims I was born on August 31th of 1980. I haven't a cherished memory or blood relative to my name, and I'm here to tell any reader that cares to listen that being a part of the '_Harry Potter_' series isn't as 'exciting' or as happy as it sounds, though it is every bit as insane.

I'm also here to tell you that, the man I have come to call Ostiarius, _lies_.

* * *

><p>Ostiarius – from Latin translation: the porterthe doorkeeper.

_Review if you liked it or not, give me critiques. Keep me in line, people. If something is unexplained and doesn't match up, tell me so I can edit it._


	2. New Life

To Enter a Fairytale

By: BlooDrunk

_A/N: Thanks to those of you who alerted and faved this. And to my reviewers! My English teacher has been telling me I need to work on my imagery skills, so sorry if I've gone a little overboard. Also, regarding lengths of chapters, in case it's more than just the one person who is unsettled by the length of the web page… think of it this way. Novel chapters are way longer than these are, so that small scroll bar on the right of your screen really doesn't mean anything._

I forgot the disclaimer last chapter. But, I think we all know that JK Rowling doesn't waste her time here, so I don't own it.

* * *

><p>Chapter 2: Just a New Beginning<p>

She hated plane rides. She didn't like being high up in the sky where she had absolutely no control over what happened, and she hated the fact that she was just sitting there, doing nothing, even more. She would much rather walk than take a plane, but alas, there were no roads across the Atlantic, and she wasn't old enough to perform magic outside of school. It's funny how a sentence such as that used to sound crazy to her, and now it was just second nature. After all, the life she now had was the only life she could fully remember.

"Sissy! Wanna play tic-tac-toe? Please?" the little six year old sitting next to her begged, tugging on her sleeve. Catrina sighed, exasperated. Despite her boredom and restlessness, she didn't want to spend time playing a silly game, either.

"Can't you ask Mom?" Catrina asked, gesturing to the petite woman sitting to her sister's left. This made the girl pout, her dark blue eyes getting frustrated with not getting her way.

"But I want to play with you!" the girl whined a little loudly as she started to kick and bounce in her seat, causing her curly golden locks to bounce with her. Catrina thought it would have been cute, had the whine not irritated her.

"Shh, Sophie, people are trying to sleep," the woman beside them said, placing a dainty, manicured hand on the child's shoulder in an attempt to calm the girl down. Her long, light brown hair fell over her face as the girl pulled her mother closer to whisper in her ear.

_Tattletale…_ Catrina thought, turning back to her window. Always the obedient one, that sister of hers, but if she didn't get her way… she could be underhanded. Sophie did indeed do what she was told, and she played the 'I'm a good girl, mommy!' card while snitching on Catrina at the same time. Yes, she could see it now. Her sister was going to go into law to be a suck-up-to-the-judge lawyer. And she would be good at it, too.

Their mother looked up at Catrina once Sophie was done whispering in her ear and gave a stern yet pleading look at her oldest daughter. If Catrina hadn't guessed before what her sister was doing, it was obvious now. She could see it in her mother's eyes, the same eyes Sophie had. They may be dark blue, but they may as well have been crystal clear.

"Why don't you play with your sister?" she asked, though it sounded like a demand to Catrina's ears.

"Because… I'm looking at the scenery out the window." Her mother cocked a carefully tweezed brow at this. They both knew it was pitch black outside, due to the clouds blocking the moon's light, and even if the sky was clear, the only thing to see would be miles on miles of ocean.

"Play with your sister. Look at her, she adores you!" her mother replied, using the same adoration towards Sophie as she claimed Sophie had towards her oldest. Catrina grimaced, but glanced down at the young girl anyways. She had a goofy smile, the kind kids have after they'd lost a few teeth, that spread ear to ear. Despite her manipulative ways, her eyes reflected nothing but innocence. She giggled a little as her big sissy watched her, and gave a small cheer and a full-out fit of laughter when Catrina reluctantly agreed. Their mother was right, there was no doubt Sophie adored Catrina, and it would be a lie to say the older girl didn't have any affection for her adoptive sister. But there was always something there keeping Catrina from getting closer to Sophie, and that something was the same reason she grimaced when their mother spoke with such affection that she reserved, though unconsciously, only for her blood related daughter. But Catrina couldn't blame Sophie for that. Not yet at least, when the girl didn't know that she used this affection to her advantage.

The ball of energy Sophie was, the girl had Catrina play game after game with her. From tic-tac-toe, to hang man, to a game she had invented herself, 'Guess what I'm drawing?' Of course, it wasn't original, but if it kept Sophie contained, no one really cared. Besides, it kept her happy, since she was the one who always won. And when they ran out of paper, the younger sister insisted they play dollies, and wouldn't give up no matter how many times Catrina explained that the only doll Sophie had brought was in a suitcase in cargo with all the other luggage, and the rest of her collection was already at the new house.

"But I wanna play dollies!" Sophie declared, pushing away their mother's generously offered CD player. Catrina had given up and had her head staring up at the plane's ceiling whispering 'Kill me now'.

Their mother clapped her hands together once and smiled at the little girl, and playfully poked her stomach to get her to listen, but the girl only frowned and crossed her arms in response. "You know what? It's way past your bedtime, and I know a certain little fairy who won't get her ice cream if she acts up before bed…"

Sophie's eye lit up automatically at the mention of the frozen treat, and her mother's words backfired as she started bouncing up and down in her seat again, finally getting her legs up on the chair and folding them under her blue dress.

"Ah, only when we get home. Until then, fairy needs her beauty sleep."

This was routine for Catrina. Lots and lots of bribery, mainly for the _little fairy_ to get some form of reward in return for her behaving. It worked; it's why the girl was always so obedient. She always thought she would get something out of being good. What a rude awakening that girl was in for…

Catrina once again turned back to her window once her sister and mother had quieted down. Her forehead pressed against the cold plastic. She really wanted to get out one of her books, get a head start on her reading for the coming year. However, she wasn't allowed those kinds of books in public, lest the contents be seen by someone's prying eyes. You'd think Catrina were trying to read erotica, how careful her parents were about what she revealed outside the privacy of home. Set aside that most people would brush it off as some weird book of fiction, her parents were adamant in their decision.

No magical _anything_ in public.

Catrina figured it was because her adoptive grandfather was a squib. His bitterness about not being magical rubbed off on his son, and now if they couldn't do magic, neither could she.

_Well… I suppose that's not entirely true. They just prohibit it when we're around people. They're passive about it if we're in private, if not just a little… what's the word? Contemptuous? As good a word as any as any. It's not like I can do anything outside of school, anyways._

Of course, the subject of magic intrigued her little sister. Sophie would go on about her fantasies of one day attending Salem, but, unfortunately, her hopes had to be crushed when her parents realized that she thought she would actually get to go. Even Catrina wanted to cry at the heart broken look on Sophie's face when the girl found out. Her first dream had been stomped on.

Just wait 'til she finds out about Santa.

Unconsciously, Catrina's hand had wandered to her right side, where her wand was tucked away into the waist of her jeans. Always her source of comfort, a simple stick could be, even if it wasn't simple. Or a stick. A ten and a half inch hazel wand with a dragon heartstring core - much more than a stick. It had served her well in her years at Salem, as the particular wood tended to have a strong attachment to the owner and reflected emotions, especially if said owner knew how to control said emotions. Luckily, Catrina had become a master of this trade, though perhaps for the wrong reasons. It wouldn't do very well for people to continuously question her distant state, and so, her emotions had to be well hidden, and only let out when she permitted it. Yes, a fine wand indeed… well, it served its purpose.

The teenager smiled as the plane cleared the thick clouds, revealing the bright moon and ocean as it did so. It was a rare occurrence, for her to genuinely smile, but when she thought about magic and her ability to use it, she couldn't help herself. Even if she tended to slack just a little bit at Salem, she maintained decent grades… ahem, _marks_.

_These new terms are going to take some getting used to_, Catrina thought, and her smile faded away from her face. She would have been perfectly fine with staying in America. In fact, she preferred it. She had very little reason to want to move to London, but her father's boss had ordered him to a different sector of their growing company, and to her father, that word was law.

_He even went ahead of us to work there for two extra weeks and get the house settled._

Her father worked for a pharmaceutical company, but he was part of treasury. He often left for work as early as six in the morning, and wouldn't come back until thirteen or fourteen hours later. It was a wonder how he hadn't developed dark bags under his equally dark brown eyes. He often came home with his work jacket slung over his shoulder and briefcase in hand, and despite his tired demeanor, his short, dark curly hair always looked as perfect as it was when he left. Of course, he would sometimes go for the liquor cabinet. That's when Sophie and Catrina were told to go to bed.

It was quite the decent family, minor poor attributes aside, and she was sure she would have loved it were she actually related. But, as it were, she found herself with an emptiness, because despite the 'tweaking' that had been done, Catrina was never treated with the same love as Sophie. And going to London wasn't helping.

_Who knows? Maybe it's just because she's the youngest and I'm in that 'awkward' teenage stage everyone talks about, and feel like I don't belong anywhere._ Catrina sighed. She hoped that was all it was. She clung on to it, and supported it with the fact she'd only been with them for four years.

Still, London was not a place she wanted to be going to. Not in 1995 or '96, or any year up to '98. In all honesty, Catrina would have been smitten if she never had to go to London, or England for that matter. France? Maybe. Italy? Perhaps. But not England.

It was all the worse when she would have to do something that hadn't been done in years, to rock the boat, so to speak. She was going to have to be a transfer student. The last case she had heard of was another European student from Beauxbaton going to study there, but that was after her graduation, and therefore not really a transfer. Catrina's case was… strange, to say the least. Having Muggle parents meant she had no way of getting to the bus station to board one of the several Greyhound Bus Lines that would take her to the concealed Salem Witches' Institute of New England. Not very magical sounding, if you asked her, but unlike all the other buses, those in particular had better air-conditioning and appeared four times as big on the inside as it should have, not including the three bathrooms.

It wasn't like she could apparate there either, and she couldn't very well fly back and forth to school, broom or otherwise. She was terrible on a broom, her only good attribute being speed, but seeing as she couldn't maneuver using that speed, it sort of offset the ability. And the Floo Network wasn't an option. The Ministry wouldn't allow one to be hooked up to her new house, as it was a Muggle run household. She could use one in Diagon Alley or some other venue, but she might just as well get on the train to Hogwarts, because it would still be faster. Why? There were few Floo fireplaces in America, and currently it was reserved for major Ministry locations, not schools. That's what the provided school transportation was for. All other options were downright far-fetched, like the transportation provided to Beauxbaton and Durmstrang, because she was only one person. So, the Ministry and Hogwarts had to make an exception. Catrina would be starting her fifth year at Hogwarts, with the promise that she wouldn't need to transfer for the rest of her school career. And she was dreading it.

* * *

><p>"<em>Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. As we start our descent to London Heathrow Airport, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. At this time, please turn off all electronic devices until we are stopped at the gate. Thank you<em>."

There was a drawn out sound to her left that plucked at her nerves, and as it grew louder, Catrina grew more and more awake until finally she felt a kick to her side.

"Ow!"

"Sophie, you apologize to you sister!"

"I don't wanna wake up yet! Five more minutes!"

"Do you not want your ice cream?"

Typical wake-up call. Catrina rubbed her side and examined her white jacket with her still sleep-filled eyes. There was a dirty six-year old sized shoe imprint on it, and she was not happy.

"Sophie, this is my new jacket!" Catrina's mother gave her a look that said, 'I'm handling it, stay out of this'. She huffed, as did her sister, both having been rudely awakened from their naps.

"Daddy's going to be so excited to see us! He might even have a little something for you when we get home!" Their mother declared to the girl, whose mood had strangely turned from sour to giddy. Sophie gasped and once again started bouncing in her seat.

"What is it? What is it?"

"I guess you'll have to wait to find out…" the woman was doing a bad job at concealing her laughter at her daughter's antics, but it was all Catrina could do to not tell the woman to stop spoiling the kid. Sophie knitted her eyebrows together, not liking the idea of having a secret being kept from her.

"But I wanna know now!"

"You'll have to wait."

The banter went back and forth between the two until once again, the young girl's ice cream privileges were put at stake, at which point she sat in her seat fiddling with her seat belt buckle.

_Sophie, the day you find out they don't have the nerve to deny you ice cream is the day the world is going to end… Unfortunately, that's probably **really** soon_.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared for landing. Please make sure one final time your seat belt is securely fastened and that your seat is in the full upright position. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Estimated time to the gate is about fifteen to twenty minutes. Thank you._"

Catrina was relieved that in twenty minutes, she would never have to ride another plane ever again. Technically, she would be seventeen sometime in the current year, even if the rest of the world thought she'd just be turning fifteen on the thirty-first of the current month. Catrina was curious if the trace would still be on her when she physically turned seventeen, or if it would follow her birth certificate and not let up until just before her seventh year of school. She desperately hoped it were the prior, for she had no intention of attending a seventh year at Hogwarts. She'd go back to America on her own, if that's what it would take, and attend her last year back at Salem. To hell what the ministry said. They couldn't make her go if she had her own means back to Salem. At least there, the chaos would seem another world away.

* * *

><p>"Cheer up, Catrina. I know you miss your little friends at Salem, but this is a great opportunity to make new ones!"<p>

Catrina rolled her eyes at her mother's upbeat attitude. It's not that she didn't appreciate the enthusiasm; she just didn't like the falseness behind the statement. She had only told her parents she didn't want to leave her friends behind to try to get them to let her stay in America. The truth was, she didn't have any close friends. There were a few people that she had been acquainted with, for group projects, lab partners, and duel buddies, but it never went beyond academics. She never wrote to anyone, and no one ever wrote to her. Wait… once. A boy wrote to her in her third year while her school and it's all-male counterpart came together for their annual Quidditch tournament. Unfortunately, he never got a reply. It wasn't that Catrina was being a snob, she just… the boy was four years younger than her physically, and two years younger if you went by means of her _official_ birth. She just thought the letter was… creepy, especially since it was coming from an eleven year old.

Back on topic, even worse was the 'great opportunity' her parents kept mentioning. It wasn't their fault, they didn't know what would take place. But, she did, and she didn't want to even try getting close to someone only to have them taken away.

_Stay away from those three, and you'll be fine. Everything will work itself out in the end. You'll see._

Her hands clenched in her lap and she was pulled deeper into her thoughts, away from her rambling mother who was in the driver seat and her nonsense-singing sister in the back.

_You'll see_.

She would never forget that phrase. It was a constant reminder of why she felt she could never belong. And it was also the biggest lie she had ever been told. And now, with all the buildup, Catrina was even starting to lie to herself, and it was getting harder and harder to catch herself when she started to fall into her own lies.

The whole situation was too familiar, and it was making it difficult for her to breathe normally.

"Ah, here we are!" The car died from underneath its occupants and a squeal came from the back seat, followed by clapping and the sound of the driver side door shutting.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!"

"There're my girls! How are you, munchkin?"

Catrina turned around in her seat in time to see the back door closing, and a man outside with her sister in his arms. The car went silent, and for a few seconds the only sounds were of the engine continuing to make its occasional clanking. The brief moment of peace was shattered when her own door opened and a screaming six-year-old was thrown in her lap.

"Again, Again!" Sophie giggled, reaching her arms back out to her father, digging her knees into Catrina's thighs in the process. A smiling face ducked through the open door, crowding up the passenger side even further. It was a good thing Catrina wasn't claustrophobic. He laughed at the stoic expression on his oldest daughter's face and decided to satisfy his now whining youngest, picking her up before sitting her on his knee as he kneeled just outside the car.

"And how's Miss Grouch doing? Did you smile any on the way here?" he teased, his own smile not malicious in the least. He pretended to look around before answering himself, "The world hasn't ended yet, so I guess not." He laughed at his own joke, and Sophie joined in, not knowing what exactly she was supposed to be happy about.

"Haha, how original." Catrina grabbed a hold of her small backpack and hoisted it over her shoulder as she got out of the small Toyota, slamming the door as she did so. Her father followed her around to the trunk where her mother was already gathering the luggage.

"Aww, it's original! I came up with it, didn't I?"

"It stopped being original after its first year of use. Time for the end of the world jokes to retire, Dad," she replied monotonously as she started picking up some of her bags from the trunk as well. Sophie once again giggled just to be a part of the conversation, not knowing what the joke was.

"Knock it off, you two. I don't want you going at it the first five minutes in our new home." Both Catrina and her father looked over at the woman who had been shutting the trunk, and she in turn gave them the 'Don't you dare challenge me' look. When it was apparent that there would be no argument, her sternness turned into a warm smile.

"How have you been, David? Did you miss us?" Catrina's mother smiled at her husband and hugged him tightly, effectively squishing a giggling Sophie in between. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and pulled away, causing a distinct 'Ewww!' from the child still between them.

"Only every day, Patricia dearest," David replied with a cheesy smile.

_Oh, **ugh**_.

Patricia held a hand to her heart in mock flattery before patting his cheek and heading indoors, with her husband and daughters not far behind.

After everyone's bags were inside the foyer, David decided to give a tour of the house which, Catrina had to admit, was quite the upgrade from the one in America.

"This is the living room, where we will be doing most of our living," he started jokingly. He didn't fail to inform that he had gone out and bought the exceedingly expensive 42'' screen T.V. that was in the corner himself. A large, brown, leather sectional couch sat before the T.V. on a tan carpet. A few of the paintings Catrina recognized from the old house hung on many of the walls, including the one her Squib-Grandfather's dad had done of himself. This painting hung to the right of a slick, ebony piano. The walls were a dark crimson, and the baseboards were as white as the ceiling. The wallpaper was a repeating design of a little cottage with a garden and a forest background, giving the room a little more of a peaceful feel. There were several doors that led in and out of the room, the one everyone was standing in led out to the front door foyer.

Her father walked through the door to the immediate right of the doorway they were just in, and led the lot into the kitchen.

"I had a new tile floor put in, I didn't like the wood," he explained as he strolled past a circular table and to the island counter, leaning against it after putting Sophie down. The far wall from the door they had walked through had a counter as well, with a small window towards the right. A wooden table was in front of where they walked in, surrounded by fancy chairs to match. The island beyond it that David was leaning on also served as a stove. A small sliding-door pantry was to the left of the left-most counter, and a microwave stacked on top of an oven built into the right wall, next to another door. There were four doors in the kitchen, one leading back into the foyer which was on the right, another to the dining room Catrina had seen on her way inside, one that they had just come out of, and the last, on the left wall, she didn't know yet.

"What do you think so far?" her father asked, as he watched Sophie run around chasing a little Siberian Husky, the dog their dad had brought over early to get it used to its new surroundings faster. Sophie had insisted on naming it Scotty, and so Scotty it was named. She wouldn't call it by anything else. Of course, Scotty was a girl, but Sophie just thought that made it funnier. The pup's icy blue eyes went wide as the six year old pounced on her and dug her fingers into the russet and white colored fur. Scotty's small mouth opened as if to bite the girl, but ended up just showering the kid in kisses.

_Tolerant dog._

The man's question was briefly forgotten as everyone watched the kids of the house play on the floor. Even though Scotty was still a puppy, she was rather large for her age, weighing in at nearly thirty pounds. She was a sturdy little thing, which made her all the more fun to wrestle with. Or in Catrina's case, watch.

"I really like the granite, and you were right about the tile. It's very nice, dear," her mother said smiling, taking her eyes off the wrestling match the two had going on the floor. David beamed with pride, and walked towards the unknown door, waving for the others to follow. Catrina and her mother did follow him, but they left the pup and Sophie on the kitchen floor.

They were led into a hallway of sorts.

"That," David said pointing to a door to their right, "Is a closet. It's very handy for coats and things, or if you need a place to hide a dead body. But, I think I'd use the attic for that. Much messier up there." His wife chuckled at his weird humor, but Catrina rolled her eyes.

"Over there is the laundry room, and around the corner next to it is a bathroom," he continued, gesturing to the left. "And that door there leads out to our _glorious_ three-car garage," he pointed to a door directly across from the one they had come from. He then walked to the staircase to the right of the door, and placed a hand on the railing before turning to them.

"And these, my dear loved ones, are stairs. But be careful, for the surface on these stairs are uneven in the form of steps, and you might trip and fall and break your neck. I'd hate to have to hide you in that closet." This time, Catrina's mother couldn't control herself. She laughed as the three trekked up the 'life-threatening' stairs, and her husband tried to maintain a serious face in an attempt to keep the dramatic effect. They hadn't had stairs in their old house, which just made it that much funnier. Like always, however, Catrina was not amused.

Her father led Patricia and Catrina down a hallway, pointing to different doors which contained different rooms.

"Upstairs loft, guest bedroom with its own bathroom, Sophie's room, hallway closet, another bathroom that the girls will share, Catrina's room, and the master bed and bathroom," he listed out. The loft was directly after the staircase with a small couch, T.V, computer, and a soft white carpet. That carpet trailed down the hallway and branched off into all the bedrooms. From the loft, Sophie's and Catrina's bedrooms were on the right, along with their bathroom. The guest bed and closet were on the left, and the master bedroom was at the end of the hall. The only windows, without going in the rooms, was in the loft and over the staircase.

Catrina looked at the door her father had indicated to be her bedroom, and went to open it, but then pulled away.

"I think I'm going to go unpack and call it a night," she said, not taking her eyes off the door. Her parents gave her smiles and nodded before heading into their room, her guess was that her dad would show her mom all the little things he had done to personalize it. Catrina turned around and started to head downstairs, dodging her sister and the dog who zoomed past her on their way up.

Catrina knew that this escalated happiness was only a side effect of the big change, not to mention David was probably just ecstatic that he wouldn't be living alone anymore. Things would settle down into the old routine, soon enough. Her father would let the jokes drop a little as his work got the best of him, and Sophie would eventually calm down from her over excitement. And in a couple of weeks, she and her dad would be going to Diagon Alley to get a few of the things she would need for Hogwarts, but weren't required at her last school. Like the robes. Salem didn't have separate houses, everyone just wore the same patch on their robes unless they were one of the staff or a class President, which each individual year got.

Catrina paused in the foyer with one of her bag's handles at her fingertips. It was almost three in the morning, meaning it was dark outside, and most likely the neighborhood was asleep.

_Go for a brief walk or go to bed? Choices, choices…_

She stared out through the front door's glass. Night air always calmed her down, and at the moment she needed it to. She couldn't get over her anxiety. After four years she had convinced herself she'd be able to live a semi-normal life, away from the war, and with one man's word she was dragged to London with her Muggle family. She didn't like it. At all. Every time she thought about any part of her being involved in the war, her breath became short and her heart got louder in her ears. _Thump, thump, thump…_

_Walk it is, then._

"I changed my mind, I'm going to go out for a walk. I'll be back in ten minutes!" Catrina yelled. Her parent's room was just above the foyer, and her mother's muffled voice came through the ceiling.

"Okay, be careful!"

Catrina nodded, despite no one being around to see it, and unlocked the front door, opened it, and closed it behind her. She stepped out onto the porch and stuffed her hands deep into her jacket's pockets. It was a cold night, despite it being early August. There were also quite a few clouds in the sky, and she could just barely make out the brightness of the moon behind their masses. The lights that lined the streets casted eerie shadows along the road and sidewalk, and their almost silent buzzing was the only sound perceivable, except for the occasional cricket chirps.

Her footfalls against the walkway disturbed the almost-silence as she made her way to the main sidewalk, and continued down the road under the lamp lights.

With every step she took, she was pulled deeper and deeper into her anxiety. Umbridge would be at Hogwarts this year. How would the others treat the American transfer student? How would she be sorted? Her heart fell into her stomach with a distinct plop at the idea that she would have to be sorted with the first years. How humiliating that would be, to be the oldest in a group of eleven year olds, waiting to be sorted into a house. In the middle of the room. For everyone to see the embarrassment on her face. What house would she be in? Catrina hoped to god that she would be in Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff… she never really liked that house, as that's where all the kids that didn't fit into the other houses went, under the guise of the 'hardworking' characteristic. Gryffindor was a definite 'No' on her list of houses she wanted to be in, as her first priority was to avoid the trio by any means necessary. Slytherin was on the same grounds as Gryffindor, with the nasty attitude that most of its members seemed to have as just another reason. Unfortunately, Catrina wasn't really qualified for Ravenclaw. While she had her moments, cleverness was not really something she had at her disposal. When she needed to be, she could be resourceful, but having an active imagination is different than being witty and book smart.

Catrina let out a long sigh. The inner conflicts she had usually gave her a headache, which is why she tried to only have them in a calm, peaceful environment. But, she had to think about those things. Eventually she would find reason that would comfort her until an event had passed, but she was having a hard time finding her reason. No matter how much she thought about it, her headache grew worse, and her stomach nauseous. There was no comfort to be found. How could there be? For whenever she thought of these things, of her going to Hogwarts, her mind always led back to the dream that brought her there. And with it, the knowledge that she was burdened with knowing what was to come, who was to die, and the fact that she probably couldn't do anything about it, even if she wanted to.

Ironically enough, her headache lessened. At least now she knew she wouldn't be going to Gryffindor. They don't accept cowards.

_It's not cowardice, it's self preservation._

Catrina shook her head as if to clear it, and tried to put her mind on other things. Random or otherwise, just to take her mind off her worries.

_How old am I? I must be nearing seventeen by now…  
><em>

Catrina often thought about how old she really was, just to take her mind off things. She must've thought about her age at least twenty times a year.

_I was twelve when I got here… I was going into middle school… meaning I was probably held back from Kindergarten for a year… That probably means I was born before September… maybe…?_

No matter how many time she thought about it though, Catrina never could pinpoint an exact age. And, despite its calming effects, after awhile it got frustrating not being able to remember how old she was, so she moved on to something else.

_How old am I supposed to be again? Fifteen. I'm supposed to be fifteen. Oh, that's right; my 'birthday' is in two weeks. So… sixteen. And then the day after that I'll be on the train. No, don't think about that._

Catrina stopped suddenly under a streetlight and stared at the small double shadow on the ground. Who was she kidding? Her thoughts of personal comfort were just that. Comfort. She knew she was just procrastinating the inevitable, and when she wasn't, she was just feeding herself lies. That was the first thing she remembered of her life, and she'd be damned if it wouldn't be the last.

_You'll see._

She got the sudden urge to scream, but managed to catch it before the sound left her throat so as not to wake the neighborhood. She let out a shaky breath before turning around and beginning her trek back to her house. Her pace was much slower compared to the pace she'd had previously. Catrina was in no hurry to get back. She liked it just fine on some random street corner, standing under a lamp post and looking over the top of a hill to see city lights on the horizon. But you can't spend your life on street corners, not if you want to keep your dignity. So, she walked back, slowly, painfully, to the true reality.

* * *

><p><em>-August 30, 1995-<em>

It has been a couple of days since Dad took me to Diagon Alley. Sophie had begged for us to take her with (she wanted to see the owls) but we couldn't, since she is a Muggle child. I could have sworn Dad was going to cave when I saw the way the two kept locking eyes in a competition of wills. I was thoroughly surprised that, for once, he stood his ground. Oh well, Sophie still got her ice cream.

An any case, we only needed to pick up a few things while we were there. Some books that Salem didn't need (along with a few Transfiguration books that I hadn't come across in America). The first thing we did was make a run to Gringotts, since all we had was Muggle money and a few Sickles left over from my stays at Salem. I was also able to talk Dad into converting a hundred American Dollars' worth into wizard money, and that gave me roughly thirteen Galleons. I don't think it's a whole lot, but it should do. After all, I don't plan to blow it all at Hogsmead, if I even go. It may be best to avoid that place altogether, just to be on the safe side.

We also had to pick up a new set of robes and a uniform. My Salem patched ones wouldn't work, so we had to go in and ask for standard Hogwarts robes. I had to hide my embarrassment of being measured next to a kid who, no doubt, was getting ready for his first year at Hogwarts, as well. I tried not to think about it too much as we made the purchase.

And then, since I was so blatantly stressed about the move we had made a few weeks prior, I was allowed an owl. She's a young Eagle Owl, and while a little… messy, she's got a sense of majesty. I pulled a Sophie and named her Scruffs before I knew she was a girl, and I now know Sophie's thinkings with Scotty. Scruffs and Scotty… sounds like some old T.V. show, like Abbot and Costello. She's got the deepest eyes, though. I swear, it's like she hordes the entire world's knowledge all for herself inside those flaming eyes. And her ear tuffs, for which she is named, are quite the little array of feathers. She isn't fully grown yet, but she's still rather small. I'm sort of hoping she'll stay that way; I've heard larger owls are harder to care for.

I believe today is the day someone from Hogwarts is going to stop by and give me a run down on how I'll be integrated with the rest of the school. I have a strong feeling that I'm going to be told I'll have to stay with the first years to be sorted. I highly doubt they'll allow a private sorting of some kind, either later or beforehand. Oh well, I've thought it through enough, slept on it. That demon, the one that used to haunt me the first I thought about it, has pretty much left me alone. I've rationalized that, since I don't plan on getting close to anyone, why should I care of what they think of me?

… I don't buy it either. Even coming from my own head, it's plain to see I care what people think of me. No amount of time will ever be able to change that. It can't be helped.

* * *

><p>Well… there was a bit of 'good' news, some bad news, and some worse news.<p>

The 'good' news was that, despite all the 'nonsense' rumors going around that You-Know-Who is back, 'The Potter boy lies'. And I quote, 'Hogwarts will be watched closely by a trusted member of the Ministry'. I have a feeling our visitor was less a Hogwarts representative and more of a bridge between the school and the Ministry. But, you know, just a hunch. I think it may have something to do with him introducing himself as Mr. Trenton, Department of Magical Education.

The bad news just confirmed my suspicions that I would indeed have to join the first years in the sorting. He said I would be called up last, so as not to completely mix me in with the younger kids, but in all honesty I think I'd rather go first to get it over with. I suppose beggars can't be choosers, though.

The worst news… I already knew it, but he proceeded to tell me the 'trusted member' was Delores Umbridge. That in and of itself was enough to make me need something for my headache.

Ah, well. He told me a few other things, but I deemed them unimportant and only vaguely paid attention while my parents listen vigorously. I'll be celebrating my 'birthday' tomorrow, and the day after I'll be on the train. No use putting off thinking about it, anymore. It's practically here.

Despite my efforts, a lone tear escaped the corner of my eye as I lay in my new bed, clutching onto my wand as if it were a life line. While I may not be able to comfort myself, my wand has a wonderful trick of emanating waves of tranquility, at least to me. So I lay there, staring intently at the one thing I had to keep me sane, and all the while thinking backhanded thoughts of what I would give up if only I were able to stay in America, or even better, what my previous life had been.

I closed my eyes to imagine the life I could have had, the twelve years of my live I could no longer remember. I stopped it right quick, though. After all, who was to say that my wishing isn't what brought me to this world in the first place? I can't believe all of what Ostiarius said anymore. It may have sounded convincing then, but not now. No, now it just sounded like a reason to tear away a child from everything she knew and loved, all for the sake of some kind of sick joke.

And then I slept, but I did not dream. Dreams are for those who believe in fairytales, not for those who are convinced they exist in a living nightmare.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I find it strange that I catch myself reading this in an English accent. Most the character's I've introduced are American. I blame my best friend. He's a person of many accents. Today he acted English. I think he's now the third person narrator, in my mind… shoot…_

_Tell me what you think, dearest readers of mine. Your feedback means the world to me. Seriously, it does. This is a future profession in progress._


	3. Step Forward

To Enter a Fairytale

By: BlooDrunk

_A/N: In case you haven't noticed, yes. I tend to have updates somewhat infrequently. I'm having troubles with motivation to write, but I find my ways. It just takes me a little longer. Also, I'm terrible at jewelry, so I don't know if I have my descriptions right. Don't be surprised if I change some writing layouts every now and then, I sometimes see this site more as an experimental opportunity than anything else._

* * *

><p>Chapter 3: Just a Realization<p>

"_Mommy, can we get a puppy?" The girl's grey eyes stared up at the smiling woman towering above her. Her mother placed a warm hand on her head, and gently wiped away a few stray strands of dark brown hair._

_The girl excitedly looked back to the German Shepherds playing happily in their pen, eager to join them in the fun._

"_Not now, sweetheart."_

_Slowly, the woman started pulling the girl away from the pet store. The girl glanced back at the pen, trying her best to free her hand from her mother's. The puppies were looking back at her, as if to say, "Where are you going? Why won't you play with us?" Try as she might, and she willfully tried, the girl could not find her way back to the puppies in their pen. She wanted so bad to join them in their caged freedom, in their carefree games. She cried as her little dream of taking one home to be her best friend crumbled in on her. Tears stained her reddened cheeks when she started making a fuss, saddened even more when the puppies went on playing without her._

"_You__ can't always have what you want, dear."_

* * *

><p><em>August 31, 1995<em>

Her eyes creaked open at the sound of a loud bang, and then several smaller bangs coming from another side of a wall. The silence following the interruption lulled her back into a light sleep, and she turned away from the window that was allowing a downpour of sunlight into her face.

There was a small click, and her eyes snapped open again, shooting a look behind her towards the door without turning around herself. Small footsteps slowly made their way across the carpet, and then stopped before resuming again, quieter. All the while Catrina stayed silent, not moving, only listening. This happened about once a week, when her sister would sneak in early in the morning to try and scare her awake. She followed the sound as it rounded the bed and stopped at the edge she was facing. A short giggle of anticipation, and a deep breath from below. Yes, a very familiar sound, signifying she was about to be jumped.

"Boo!" The shrill yell was unwelcome to Catrina's silence-adjusted ears, and she hid her head beneath the covers before she even saw Sophie appear from over the side of the bed. It was followed by a long string of giggles, and the bed shifted to support the weight of another occupant.

"'Trina, it's time to get up! It's morning, silly! You don't sleep in the mornings!"

This only encouraged Catrina to pull the comforter tighter over herself, knowing the inevitable 'game' was about to begin. Seeing this, Sophie shrieked and started tugging at the blanket with her small hands, using all her strength to uncover the prize bellow.

"Come on, 'Trina, it's morning!"

The teen only groaned in response and made a half hearted attempt to push the girl away without revealing herself. This earned her a few playful slaps, one of which landed where her face was.

"Morning my ass; if it's not eleven, I'm not moving," she grumbled, only showing her eyes to her pouting sister. Sophie jutted out her low lip and crossed her arms.

"MOOMMMM!"

Catrina desperately tried to drown out the yelled conversation that followed before reluctantly getting out of bed lest she face her mother's wrath.

"I'M UP! NOW STOP YELLING!" She screamed as she slammed the bathroom door behind her.

She was sluggish in her morning routine; brushing her hair and teeth, changing out of her night clothes. No enthusiasm, even on what most teens would consider to be an exciting day.

"Good morning to you, too, birthday girl," her mother greeted humorously when Catrina stepped into the kitchen.

"Remind me to buy a lock for my door," Catrina replied, glaring at the six year old seated next to Patricia at the table.

"Now, now, you know she means well." Sophie beamed up at her mother and took another bite of her grilled cheese sandwich. "There's another sandwich next to the stove, you might want to heat it up a bit."

Catrina mumbled out a thanks and did as was suggested, sitting down at the table across from her sister.

"Anything special in mind that you'd like to do today?" her mother asked, turning back to the newspaper. She was probably looking for something that would be interesting for the family to do.

"Sleeping in would have been nice," the teen grumbled in between bites.

"You did sleep in. How about a trip to the park? We haven't gone there in a while." Sophie's eyes lit up and she turned to her sister at the suggestion. One look at the silent plea was all it took.

"Okay…" Catrina accepted, albeit halfheartedly.

"Ice cream, too?" the six year old asked hopefully.

"If you want."

"Yay! Mommy, let's go to the park! Let's go right now!" Sophie was bouncing in her seat again, her sandwich forgotten on her plate.

"Okay, okay. You go get dressed, Cat and I will be in the living room."

_We will?_

Sophie did a small cheer before racing out of the kitchen; her footfalls were still heard stomping up the stairs. Patricia smiled at her oldest daughter before getting up from the table herself and exiting into the living room. Assuming she was supposed to follow her mother, Catrina quickly finished her sandwich and trailed behind her.

"Your father had to go to work early today. He said he'd be back to celebrate with us tonight, but he had to go or else he wouldn't be able to come with us to see you off," her mother said after they had both taken a seat.

Catrina nodded. Nothing out of the ordinary; David's demanding work called for sacrifices. Work a little more today, take an hour or two off tomorrow. Move to another country, get a small salary increase.

"I have something that I wanted to give you in private, though." She turned away from Catrina and dug into her small change purse. When she turned back she was cupping something in her hand, though since it was covered with the other, Catrina couldn't see what.

"My family has had a tradition for many generations, that we give our children a special gift on their fourth birthday. And, since this is your fourth year since becoming a part of the family, I only thought it would be appropriate."

She removed her hand and let the necklace fall until taut against her fingers, and held it up for Katrina to see.

"The stones are Peridot, the birthstone of August, the same my grandmother had. The bear is the Native American August animal totem, and the fish circling the ring are your Celtic animal sign, symbolizing wisdom and depth."

Catrina couldn't help but gape at the necklace. A shield-shaped, silver pendant a little larger than the size of a half dollar hung on a silver chain, along with a ring. The pendant's edges were swirled with intricate designs, and the insides consisted of a green stone with a crest-like design of a silver bear. The bear's eye was the green Peridot gemstone, cut to look like an angled tear drop. The ring was silver as well, the inner band being green with silver fish etched in, all swimming toward the oval-cut gemstone, embedded in a hold.

All she could say as her mother turned her around to put the necklace on was, "Why four?"

Patricia chuckled. "I'm not sure, mother used to say something about the number four being significant though. Something about the four directions and decision making." When she was done, she turned Catrina back towards her and smiled. "I have two beautiful daughters," she said, taking her daughter's hand in hers.

"I didn't think you were spiritual, with gemstones and totems." Catrina was having a hard time taking it in; the gift had really taken her offguard.

"Usually, I'm not. I make this the exception because I remember the day I got mine, and it's still one of my happiest memories."

Catrina swallowed and looked down at the necklace, and then at her hand, where her mother had just finished fitting the ring.

"Do you like them?"

"Yes," she said without missing a beat. "Thank you." Patricia smiled in return and pulled her daughter into a hug.

"Happy Birthday, Catrina."

When she pulled back, the first thing the two of them heard was, "MOMM! I can't find my shoes!"

They shared a moment of quiet chuckles before Patricia hollered back, "They're at the door!"

* * *

><p>The rest of my birthday went by uneventful, for the most part. We went to the park, saw some dogs, got some ice cream, and I was actually happy. For a few hours, I was able to forget where I'd have to go the next day. I didn't think about the trunk that was already packed in my room, the books, or the stress. I was more focused on realizing that, whether I had just missed it or if it had just happened, that I had actually become part of the family. Not just by law or by word, but at some point I had found where my strange edges were supposed to fit, and a small corner of my puzzle had completed itself without my knowing. I was baffled, to say the least, but also kind of ecstatic at the same time, even if my exterior didn't show it.<p>

Even though I had just received it, I could already tell the gift my mother had given me would be one of my most prized possessions, second only to my wand. Perhaps August 31 _was _my real birthday; everything I ever received that had to do with that date always ended up having a large amount of sentimental value.

When we finally got home, about four hours later, Dad was waiting for us. The first thing he did was compliment my necklace, which caused Sophie to want to go get her own necklace so that we could look at them side by side. Hers is silver and Sapphire, since her birthday is September 20. Apparently, the late September Native American animal totem is the raven, and her ring is characterized by butterflies. She had a blast putting both necklaces and rings on, even though the weight of the necklaces made her young body slouch and the rings kept falling off.

It's funny. The moment I saw her set I instantly thought 'Ravenclaw'. How ironic it is that that would probably be the exact house she would have gone into, were she a witch.

Hours later, at ten o'clock, the day was over. Sophie had gone to bed, as I was getting prepared to do. My parents had stayed behind to clean up the messy kitchen, evidence that we had had a good time, with spaghetti and cake on the floors and counters. Hopefully that poor dog didn't get a hold on any of the chocolate…

When I pulled the door open to my room, I realized I wasn't quite ready for the night to end. Sure, I had to be up early the next morning to be at King's Cross, but I planned to sleep on the train. So, I made the trek back down the stairs, only stopping briefly to let my parents know I was taking one last walk before going off to Hogwarts.

And so, once again I found myself walking under the lamp posts, watching my shadow change from the different light sources. Perhaps… perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing, going to that school. I could avoid all those involved with the war, and not pick a side myself. I could stay neutral, couldn't I? Just to stay out of it? And maybe I'd get a little more help with my personal goal there than I did at Salem. It was certainly likely, it's not like McGonagall would say 'no'. I'd already devoted my entire school career so far; if that doesn't show commitment then I don't know what does.

But then, maybe my last night of being away from all that shouldn't have been spent thinking of such trivial things. The task would be done, sooner or later, and I was determined to make sure that I, at the very least, came out of what was to come unscathed. And then one day, I could be a teacher… once I got over my stage fright, I mean. That's going to have to be done first.

I was rounding the corner thinking of how I should actually go about coming out of my shy shell when I felt something brush up against my leg.

"Scotty, what are you doing?" The pup just looked up at me with those eyes of hers. 'Come home, sleep time.'

I sighed. She was definitely my sister's dog. I had one to tell me when to get up, and the other to tell me when it was time for bed.

Despite not being ready to turn back, I figured I should take her home. She somehow got out of the house on her own, meaning no leash, and I couldn't very well pick her up without breaking something. I started walking back hoping she would follow, which she did all too happily.

We arrived back at the doorstep a few minutes later, and while I would have liked to stay out maybe fifteen minutes longer, I decided it'd be better to get some sleep. Scotty pushed passed me when I opened the door, and wasted no time prancing through the foyer and into the family room, where her bed was. Likewise, I walked straight to the stairs in the dark – my parents had apparently gone to bed awhile before – and made my way back to my room. The door was already opened.

_If Sophie's been making late night visits to Scruffs again… _Either that, or I just didn't shut it.

As it were, the owl was still asleep when I entered, only waking when I clicked the door shut. She stretched a little bit when she saw me, and edged closer to the bars of the cage.

"Hungry?" She chirped in response. I smiled at her and reached through the bars to pet her head, and she decided to nip at my fingers.

"Okay, okay, sheesh…"

I had found out earlier that it wasn't really a good idea to feed her anything already dead. She didn't like that, much. The frozen rats I had gotten for her just ended up all over the floor… I mean it. A leg here, some guts there… not pretty. So, I had taken to letting her out to go in search of her own food, like she was meant to. Of course, she liked to stay out longer than I told her, but I figured she was smart enough I meant it this time.

"You need to be back before dawn, Scruffs, you hear me? And as always, make sure you aren't seen coming and going. And for god's sakes, don't get _caught._" She hooted, and pecked at her cage. Poor Scruffs. She always had cabin fever, not being able to leave except for meals.

I opened the door to her cage, and held out my forearm for her to climb on. As soon as she did, I went over to the window and opened it. She flapped her wings a few times, eager to get going.

"I mean it, Scruffs. Dawn." And with that, she took off into the night, swallowed by the black.

Maybe it was my new sense of belonging that made me dread even more what awaited me, once Scruffs was gone. Or, maybe it was just that I never wanted to go to Hogwarts in the first place. Seeing as I know the latter was true, I like to believe it was a bit of both. I _really _didn't want to leave right when I finally felt like a part of the family, out of fear that the feeling would disappear come the holidays, after being gone for so long.

Regardless, what was done was done. I had been transferred, and there was no getting out of it unless I convinced them I could apparate to Salem in a few years. At the very least, I had the small comfort of knowing what to expect. My knowledge of the comings was a blessing as much as it was a curse.

It was with these thoughts that I prepared for the (most likely restless) night, and allowed my eyes to close, and my mind to drift to more pleasant wonderings.

* * *

><p><em>September 1, 1995<em>

_Maybe it's not too late… I can drop out, maybe go to a different school…_

But no. Catrina and her parents were already at King's Cross, and were making their way through the Muggle platforms. It _was _too late. Well, technically they were early, but it was still too late for _that._

"Are you _sure _you've got everything? Didn't forget any books, regular clothes, homework?" Catrina rolled her eyes at her mother. There they were, almost to the platform, and she was still asking if her daughter had forgotten anything. What did she expect they do, even if they had? Their home was an hour's drive away. There would be no more going back. If it turned out she _had _forgotten something, she'd just have to send Scruffs for it, if it were small enough.

"I'm _sure, _mom. Worst case scenario, I'll have to turn a shirt into an extra blanket, now _please,_ calm down. I have my own nerves to drown out."

Patricia pursed her lips together, her worry still evident on her face. Her husband just smirked at her obvious tension, and pulled both girls closer to his sides.

"So Cat, first time you won't be able to come back on the weekends. Nervous?" her father asked, looking down at her as they walked.

"You know I am."

"Don't be. I think it will be a little more like college; it'll make you more independent. And, you will have a great time, I'm sure of it."

_Colleges normally don't have witches gone tyrant._

"Yeah…"

They came between platforms nine and ten, and came to a stop near the barrier.

"Is this it?"

"Yes mom."

As if she didn't believe it, Patricia walked up to the barrier and went to touch it, but pulled away at the last instant.

"All right, let's be on with it…" It was clear that she didn't want to pass through alone, or otherwise look silly when staring in fascination at a wall. David laughed at his wife, and took hold of her hand again.

When no one made a move to go through, Catrina finally sighed and moved her luggage cart into position in front. She checked to make sure no one was looking, and the coast was clear. With a deep breath, half hoping the barrier would reject her; she stepped forward until she passed through, finally coming out of the other side.

She just stared at the Hogwart's Express for a moment. It was much more… 'glamorous' than the rundown looking Grey Hound buses she was used to. She knew the compartments weren't nearly as spacious as the Salem transportation, but that's why she had insisted on going early. That, and despite putting in extra hours the day before, her father would still have to work late that night. She was so fixated on the train that she didn't notice her parent's had joined her until her father had placed and arm around her shoulder.

"Kinda old fashioned, isn't it? But I supposed that's sort of preferred among wizards. Don't you still use quills?" He questioned from behind her. She appreciated the efforts to take her mind off of the stress, but forgetting that she was so close to something she believed she'd go her whole life avoiding was no small feat.

"Salem's been using modern pens for two years, but Hogwarts still uses quills, yes," Catrina replied, reluctantly making her way to board. Her father helped her get her trunk on to the train, and seeing as the platform was still rather bare, they took their time. Even so, getting the trunk only took a minute, if that, and soon after Catrina was enveloped in a hug by her parents. She'd never before realized just how their scents had a special calming effect; Patricia's perfume and David's cologne had the distinct feel of home, and she had no desire to leave its comforts. She buried her face further into the fabric of her father's coat, but he was still on a tight schedule, and pulled away. He held her at arms' length by the shoulders, and smiled at her knowingly.

"You'll do fine, kiddo. You'll have a great time," he said warmly. Catrina managed a small smile, and turned to her mother, taking a deep breath.

Patricia pulled her into a tight embrace, and for a moment, Catrina didn't think she would let go. She did, though, but kept an arm secure around Catrina's shoulders as she turned the two of them away from her husband and toward the train.

"Have you got your necklace and ring?" she whispered into her daughter's ear. Catrina smirked at this; even now, a few feet away from her departure, her mother was still worried. The girl dug into her shirt's collar and pulled out the pendant and displayed it over her fingers (one of which was occupied by the ring) before tucking it safely back inside her shirt. Her mother pulled her close and placed a kiss on her forehead, and then she pulled away as well.

Catrina felt a little bare, standing in front of the train with her parents on the opposite side. Looking at them like they were on the other side of a glass wall, a wall she wouldn't be able to cross until the holidays, saddened her. And that's when the platform started filling, which also meant it was time for her parent's to go.

"We know you'll make us proud, dear, you always do!" Her mother said over her shoulder as her father led the way to the barrier. "Don't forget to write!"

Quickly, now that she had no more reason to delay and stand outside the train, she boarded and grabbed her luggage and owl cage before making her way down the corridors. She wanted to be in a compartment that not many people would go to; at least, not until the train started to get full. What better place to go than the back?

And so, she made her way to the last carriage, and entered a compartment.

With nothing else to look forward to (like spending a few last moments with family or attempting to find some friends), Catrina became exceeding tired, her late night apparent in her half closed eyes. Because of this, she put away her belongings quickly and made herself comfortable next to one of the window seats, with her head leaning on the wall. The amount of people on the outside were becoming more and more dense with families saying goodbyes to their children, and old friends greeting each other for the new year. Rustling feathers above her head and a bit of clattering pulled her attention back inside the train.

"Quiet, Scruffs. I'm still mad at you for being late. When I say dawn, I mean dawn, not 'when we're getting in the car'. You're lucky no one saw," she said, looking towards the cage. She got a few high-pitched hoots in response. Knowing Scruffs and her hardheadedness, it was probably some sort of retort, but since her mind was already going numb, Catrina decided to hear it as an apology.

Her eyes closed.

* * *

><p>I knew I had fallen asleep. It was my intention. What I didn't count on was awaking soon after to the sound of a whistle. I also didn't expect a blond haired girl to be sitting across from me with her face buried into an upside down magazine.<p>

_... Son of a…_

* * *

><p><em>AN: **If you don't usually read A/N's, I ask that you read this one; at least skip down to the other bolded paragraph!** _

_Correct me if my information is wacky, God knows I could use some help. And while I'm usually pretty good with grammar, there's always someone better out there. If you are one of those people, I wouldn't say no to a Beta :3_

_EDIT: If you are reading this edit, though don't remember it being here before, that means that the past three chapters have gone through some revising. For example, the iPhone that the mom tried to let Sophie use on the plane has been changed to a CD player, and several instances of the OCs sudden name change (from Catrina to Cristina or Kristina) have been corrected. If you see any other errors that I have overlooked, PLEASE correct me. _

_**That said, even with the editing I've already done, I've been thinking of giving this a serious makeover. I want to take away the first chapter, and sort of piece it together throughout the fanfic so that newcomers don't right away know where the OC comes from.  
>Also, there is an issue I've been facing with the shifts of POV in the chapters. I'd prefer to keep it to just one POV, but I'm not really sure which, so I thought I'd let the readers choose. There's a poll in my profile for that, or you can leave a review letting me know which you prefer.<strong>  
><em>

_**I don't really like begging for reviews, but I'd really like some feedback about further editing to the story. If I can get some of my readers opinions (however few of you there are), I would REALLY appreciate it!  
><strong>_


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